


Fireflies and Rainwater

by showmeyourtardis



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Camping, Fluff, M/M, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-07
Updated: 2018-07-07
Packaged: 2019-06-06 18:44:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,622
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15201068
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/showmeyourtardis/pseuds/showmeyourtardis
Summary: When the Gangsey decide to stay the night in Cabeswater, Adam thinks a second-hand tent will be fine. The storm that rolls through Cabeswater has a different idea, and Adam ends up soaking wet and half-dressed in Ronan's sleeping bag.





	Fireflies and Rainwater

**Author's Note:**

> Well, this is my first introduction in writing TRC fanfic. I recently re-read the books and needed more Pynch content. So enjoy! Just a little something I cracked out. I've got other WIPs which may one day see the light of day.

Adam Parrish startled awake when a bucket of water was thrown over him. He scrambled out of his sleeping bag, half-blind with sleep and water. As soon as he was out, the rain soaked him to the bone. He swiped at his eyes, struggling to see in the darkness. A storm swirled around him, ripping his second-hand tent to pieces. Icy wind whipped in through the hole in the top, as rain pounded through, soaking everything Adam had brought on this trip.

He fell over his trainers, now too wet to even consider putting on. The storm furiously soaked everything it touched. Trees bent in the wind, leaves were ripped from branches, and then shot at Adam.

“Cabeswater,” Adam said, his voice lost to the wind, “Stop the rain. Make it dry.”

Usually Cabeswater rushed to please its magician, but not tonight. Either the storm wasn’t magical or it was and Cabeswater was in no rush to get rid of it. Perhaps it had needed some rain during the dry Henrietta summer.

Adam climbed out of his tent – not that it resembled much of a tent at this point. He left through a rip in the wall, and not through the still zipped door. He stood, barefoot and shivering on the soaking wet grass and watched his tent collapse under the weight of the rain and the assault from the wind.

It was dark outside, made darker by the ominous storm clouds above the trees. It was just light enough for Adam to see his own collapsing tent, and the other three firm, surviving tents. Blue’s was a small one-person tent, that she claimed had once fit half the residents of 300 Fox Way inside, though that was hard to believe when she herself barely fit and she was half the size of Orla.

Gansey’s tent was pitched next to hers, in shining red. It didn’t so much as quiver in the wind, and Adam couldn’t help feeling a little jealous. He didn’t want his tent exactly, just enough money to buy a tent that didn’t immediately collapse at the first hint of rain.

Between Adam’s dying tent and Gansey’s shiny castle was Ronan’s tent. His was what Adam thought of when he thought the word tent. It was probably big enough to fit all four of them comfortably, coloured an earthy green the same shade as Cabeswater. It had a small plastic window on one side, but Ronan had covered it with a black pillowcase. Adam wouldn’t have been surprised to find it had been dreamt up a few nights ago, when this plan to stay the night in Cabeswater had been hatched.

Right now, he couldn’t remember why staying in Cabeswater had seemed like such a good idea, as he stood shivering and soaking.

Adam turned back to look at the drowning remains of his tent and belongings. His favourite pair of jeans was in that tent.

“Parrish,” Ronan’s voice shouted over the wind and rain, “Your tent’s a piece of shit.”

Ronan disappeared back into his tent, leaving his unzipped door flapping in the wind. Adam wasn’t sure if this was an invitation or just an insult. Cold raindrops pelted him, goosebumps rose on his arms. He was going to get sick, and then he’d have to skip work – or more likely, suffer through work with the flu.

Ronan’s head reappeared through his tent door, “Hurry up, I’m freezing my balls off.”

Adam didn’t wait. He dove in through the door and zipped it up quickly and clumsily, his wet hands slipping on the zip. As soon as the zip was closed, the storm seemed to quiet down.

The inside of Ronan’s tent was sparsely filled with dream things. A rucksack sat open in one corner, clothes spilling out like black vomit. Chainsaw was perched on top of it, peering at Adam. Tinny music was coming from a pair of headphones that weren’t connected to any kind of music player. A two-person sleeping bag took up a lot of the floor, and Ronan was already tucked inside, his eyes focused on the lights dancing above him. Fireflies weaved and floated through the room, darting and shifting around Adam.

“Did you bring these or dream them tonight?” Adam asked, stretching his hand out for a firefly.

“Brought them,” Ronan said.

Adam sank to the floor and hugged his bare knees to his chest. Before the storm, Adam had been sleeping comfortably in a t-shirt and boxers, and now he questioned why he ever thought that was a good idea. Ronan shifted slightly in the sleeping bag, turning his gaze to Adam.

“Your tent’s a piece of shit,” he repeated.

Adam shut his eyes and felt for the ley line running beneath him, it’s energy thrumming in time with his heartbeat. Or was his heart beating along with the energy?

He focused on the feel of Cabeswater inside him and outside him. “Cabeswater, I need a sleeping bag.”

Again, Cabeswater ignored its magician. Adam opened his eyes to find no sleeping bag had manifested in front of him. He was still shivering, still wet, still tired. And yet, Cabeswater had refused him.

Ronan was still watching him.

“Cabeswaters ignoring me,” Adam said, sounding petulant even to his own ears.

Ronan didn’t respond. A dream firefly ducked low towards his head, shining in his eyes.

“Dream me a sleeping bag,” Adam said.

“Won’t work,” Ronan said. “We’re in Cabeswater. I can’t dream something _from_ Cabeswater if we’re already in it.”

He said it like it was obvious, and maybe it was. Adam didn’t truly understand Ronan’s dreaming, but what he said made logical sense. How could Ronan use Cabeswaters energy while being in Cabeswater. Maybe it would affect them while they were inside.

“Then ask Cabeswater for one, it might listen to you, _Greywaren.”_

Ronan closed his eyes, whether it was to ask or fall asleep was unclear.

Adam sighed and ran a hand through his hair. He was, at least, slowly beginning to dry off. Probably by morning he’d just be damp. He stood up again and pulled his sopping wet t-shirt over his head. He wringed it out, and let the water pool on the tent floor. He dreaded the thought of pulling it back over his head.

A ball of cloth hit him in the face. He looked over to Ronan, who didn’t seem apologetic for throwing something at Adam. The ball of cloth unrolled into a black muscle shirt, soft and expensive. It was Ronan’s.

Adam stared at it. He quickly thought back to their ride here in the Camaro, picturing what Ronan had been wearing. Jeans, trainers, and this black muscle shirt. He’d worn this today. Adam felt heat inch up his neck.

“It’s a shirt, Parrish, you put your head in one hole and your arms in the others,” Ronan said, voice dripping with sarcasm.

Adam pulled it on. Before his head came out the collar, he was briefly enveloped by a smell that he could only identify as _Ronan._ It was the smell of the Barns, and of Cabeswater. It was how the BMW smelt. It was so inherently Ronan that Adam was momentarily disorientated.

“I’d offer you some boxers too, but that’d be too charitable. I’ve got a reputation to uphold,” Ronan said.

“Me too,” Adam said.

Adam chucked his t-shirt into the corner closest to the door and sank to the floor once more. He hugged his knees again. Outside the storm waged on, and even Ronan’s potentially-dreamt tent was not immune. The wind crept past the walls, scraping icy fingers down Adam’s spine.

“Fuck, Parrish, I’m cold just looking at you.”

“Then stop looking.”

Ronan watched him for another beat, before rolling over and turning his back to Adam. The fireflies slowed in their dancing, drifting on the slight wind. Chainsaw tucked her head down. The contents of Ronan’s tent were settling in for the night, all except Adam.

The wind wasn’t attacking Ronan’s tent as aggressively as it had attacked Adam’s, but it was enough to chill his wet skin. He shivered and shook, and hugged his knees tighter. He wouldn’t be sleeping tonight, not with this cold. He silently begged Cabeswater to stop the wind, to stop the rain, to give him a sleeping bag. But Cabeswater did none of these things. Right now, Adam couldn’t worry over Cabeswater’s lack of care for its magician, he could only worry about his own health.

“Ronan,” Adam said.

Ronan grunted in response.

“Can I...” Adam was very aware of how his question would sound, but he didn’t want to freeze to death tonight, “Can I share your sleeping bag?”

Ronan rolled over, and for one terrifying second, Adam thought he was going to string together a lot of creative curse words and kick Adam out. But instead, all he did was wordlessly unzip his sleeping bag.

Adam walked tentatively towards the sleeping bag, as though Ronan would snatch the entrance away at last minute. When he didn’t move, Adam climbed into the sleeping bag next to Ronan. He was still wet, but he was drying off quicker now he was wrapped in the sleeping bag.

Ronan had rolled onto his side, the two of them looked at each other, each pressed into either end of the sleeping bag, leaving a good few inches of empty space between them. Adam could feel the heat emanating from Ronan, feel his breath on his cheek. He was shirtless and his pale skin glowed in the dream lights of the tent. The fireflies were dancing again, frenzied and free.

Adam was cold, so cold. He knew Ronan was warm.

Ronan’s eyes were bright and awake, Adam’s heart was hammering in his chest.

He stretched his hand across the chasm between them, his fingertips brushed the warm skin of Ronan’s shoulder. When Ronan didn’t flinch away, Adam pressed his palm against his arm, curling his fingers around. His skin was hot on his cold fingertips.

Adam trailed his hand down Ronan’s arm, all the way down from shoulder to wrist. Ronan caught Adam’s hand with his, and gave him a gentle squeeze. Chainsaw lifted her head. Outside, Cabeswater howled with the wind.

Suddenly, Adam wasn’t cold anymore. He was hot, so hot his hand was clammy in Ronan’s. Neither of them minded. Ronan was watching him, his stare long and eternal. Adam closed the gap between them and kissed Ronan.

There was a beat, where Adam was sure everything stopped. The wind, the rain, the fireflies, Cabeswater itself. Everything froze, paused, waited. Adam pulled away, embarrassment curling like steam in his chest.

Ronan caught him before he could get too far away, dragged him in for another kiss, more fervent, more hungry. Time restarted, the rain fell, the wind swept, the fireflies danced.

Adam pressed his free hand to Ronan’s chest, feeling the thumping beat of his heart, so like the electronic music he listened to. Ronan pulled Adam closer, wrapping his arms around his shoulders. Their breaths were hot as they kissed, again and again and again. They tasted each other, explored with hands and mouths.

Adam ran his fingertips over the curling, spiking tattoo on Ronan’s back, trying to trace it from memory. Ronan brushed the back of his fingers against Adam’s sharp cheekbone, ran them through the fair hair above his ear.

When they were done, they pulled apart just enough to see each other. They were still pressed together, still close enough to kiss some more. Their breaths were hot and shallow, their hearts hammered and pounded in their chests.

Ronan smiled, and Adam was so surprised by the genuine happiness behind it that he lost the remaining breath in his lungs.

“Night, Parrish,” Ronan said.

“Night, Lynch.”

* * *

Adam woke to something light and tickly on his nose. He opened his eyes and found a firefly on the tip of his nose. When he picked it off gently, and observed it in the palm of his hand, he found it wasn’t quite a firefly. It was more fire than fly. Adam released it to join the others, still swirling through the air, tirelessly, endlessly.

The storm had subsided, and fingers of sunlight peered through the exposed slither of plastic window behind the pillowcase. Adam sat up. Last night felt like a vivid dream, but waking up in Ronan’s sleeping bag, wearing Ronan’s t-shirt, in Ronan’s tent, made him remember that it wasn’t a dream, at all. Dreamlike perhaps, but as real as Adam himself.

Outside, Adam could hear the familiar crest and fall of his friends’ voices. Blue and Gansey and Ronan, all gathered outside the tent, eating whatever Blue had thought to bring for breakfast.

Adam climbed out of the sleeping bag and emerged from the tent into the shining sunlight, dappled by trees and branches. Blue, Gansey, and Ronan sat on a fallen tree trunk beside the tents, whether it was there naturally or magically, Adam couldn’t tell.

Blue and Gansey looked at him, eyes widened. All too late, Adam realised what they saw – him emerging from Ronan’s tent in Ronan’s t-shirt and a pair of boxers, looking ruffled and unkempt. He couldn’t tell them that it wasn’t what it looked like, because it very much was.

He dropped their gaze, and looked to Ronan, who wasn’t looking at him. It wasn’t odd because Ronan wasn’t looking at him, it was odd because he was _actively_ not looking at him. He was trying hard to appear casual as he poked a stick into the muddy earth, but he failed because he was trying so hard.

Gansey looked between Ronan and Adam, a question on his lips. Blue glanced up to Gansey, unsure if this was normal or not. Ronan and Adam offered no explanation. Ronan continued to poke the earth, revealing a worm that Chainsaw immediately seized.

Adam left to pick through the remains of his tent. Everything was soaking, even in the warm sunlight. He found his favourite pair of jeans dripping water and wringed them out as though that would save them. He lifted a long scrap of tent, and froze.

Beneath the mangled corpse of his tent, magically untouched by water, was a sleeping bag Adam had never owned. His own sleeping bag was nearby, brown, holey, and wet. This sleeping bag was an earthy green, the colour of Cabeswater, and smelt like moss and fresh running water. It was dry, inviting, and warm to the touch.

Cabeswater had given its magician what he had asked for, but in such a way that Adam hadn’t noticed. He lifted the sleeping bag, the gears in his head ticking around as he came to a conclusion. He glanced back to Ronan, who had given up his attempts to act casual and instead watched Adam.

Their eyes met. One corner of Ronan’s mouth curved up into a sharp smile. Adam narrowed his eyes. He picked up his favourite pair of jeans.

“Cabeswater, make them dry,” he said.

Cabeswater did so, heaving to please him. His jeans were immediately dry and warm, like they’d been lay in the dun for days. Adam folded them neatly, and rolled the new sleeping bag into a bundle.

Cabeswater had listened to him last night. It had granted his wish, but not before the Greywaren had added an addendum. That sharp smile on Ronan’s face confirmed it, Ronan had asked Cabeswater to help but not visibly. Ronan had asked Cabeswater to keep Adam in the tent.

Cabeswater had balanced the wishes of its magician and its Greywaren, and given them what they both wanted, what they both needed. He mentally thanked Cabeswater, and joined his friends.


End file.
